Are You The One That I've Been Waiting For?
by JuweWright
Summary: Songfiction based on Nick Cave's song. Post series 1/1 stuff. Sherlock and John. Both POVs. No slash, but friendship, angst etc... Rated K because I'm paranoid


**"Are You The One That I've Been Waiting For?" Nick Cave - Songfiction**

_Short drabble-songfic-thingy about the greatest friendship (well you can read it as pre-slash if you insist, but it was NOT my intention to write any slash-stuff here) of all times that just came to my mind. I'm totally obsessed with Nick Cave, so this is not only a bow to Conan Doyle and the amazing acting of Ben and Martin and so and so forth but also a massive bow to Nick who has made so many great songs that really cut right to the bottom of my heart. Listen to the song whilst reading, if you want to understand what I'm rambling about here. References to a couple of really good movies and books._

_Don't own a thing, neither the characters nor the song nor anything else... but I love it all and I want you to love it, too!_

_Would be happy about comments!_

_I've felt you coming […], as you drew near  
I knew you'd find me, cause I longed you here  
Are you my desitiny? Is this how you'll appear?_

Sherlock stared at the dead man in front of him and at the blood pool that slowly crept across the wooden floor. Blood had a peculiar colour. Much more brownish than most people thought, darker. And the consistency was strange, and it was sticky and it smelled of copper if your nose was sensitive enough to know how copper smelled. He looked from the man to the pill in his hand. He would never know whether this was the right one or the wrong one. And there was still the third possibility that both were poisoned like in that book Mycroft had read to him when they had been kids, "The Princess Bride". He noticed that he had been screaming at the man, he had been so eager to find out which one was the right pill. Slowly he turned towards the window again. He had not been able to see the man who had come to his rescue properly. And now the room opposite the school room he was standing in was deserted.

_Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes?  
Well take that coat babe, and throw it on the floor  
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?_

John was standing between the police cars watching from a distance when Sherlock came out of the house. One of the first aid people wrapped a blanket around the detective's shoulders and checked his pulse. John couldn't help but smile. As if Sherlock needed medical help. This guy got all his energy from dangerous situations. He probably had been comfortable in the face of death. Had he really considered taking that pill? John thought that he didn't know a thing about his new flatmate. But then, what was there to know if he was sure about one thing: That there was something about Sherlock that was unique and that he had not laughed as much as he had with the detective in the last few days for a very long time.

_As you've been moving surely toward me  
My soul has comforted and assured me  
That in time my heart it will reward me_

Sherlock was talking to Greg Lestrade now and seemed to be doing one of his clue-after-clue-after-clue-deductions again. It was so easy to find out who had saved him and killed the cab driver,... he went on and on and on and suddenly met the gaze of John Watson who was watching him from a distance. His brain did the basic equation in an instant and he stopped talking immediately. How could it be that he had only met this man a few days ago and now owed him his life? Why did anyone care enough about him to run after him and kill someone for him? He had not done anything to deserve this devotion. He didn't even know what normal people did to make others care.

_And that all will be revealed  
So I've sat and I've watched an ice-age thaw  
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?_

Later that night the two men were sitting together in the living room of 221B Baker Street and had tea. John had made the tea. It was the best tea Sherlock had had in a while. Even Mrs Hudson didn't make tea that delicious. They had been silent for a while when Sherlock finally said the words he – judging from his facial expression which had been somewhere between pain and confusion - had been chewing on for about half an hour.

"Thank you, John."

John knew that someone like Sherlock probably didn't thank people on a daily basis. This guy was strange. Srgt Donovan even thought he was dangerous, a psychopath, someone who was likely to swap to the wrong side at some point just because he got bored being one of the good guys.

John didn't see it. He saw a man who was different from the rest of the world and tried to make the best of it. And he saw someone whose soul was able to feel although it rarely shone through. There had been certain moments in this case where he had seen it without being able to put a finger on it.

_Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built  
Out of longing great wonders have been willed  
They're only little tears, darling, let them spill_

Sherlock looked up and watched John's reaction. The doctor seemed surprised. Probably it was surprising that Sherlock Holmes knew that you thanked people for saving your life. He was still amazed by the deed this guy had done for him. He could still tell all the horrors John had been through. The remnants of his time in Afghanistan were written in the lines on his face. This man had met death a million times. He knew exactly what it looked like and he had tried to fight it too many times to stop now. That was why John Watson was not able to cope with not being in the war any more. He wanted to be there to save lives. The doctor was sitting in his armchair, cup in both hands, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked... lonely? Sherlock was not sure what lonely looked like. But if the way he felt so often would have been reflected by his body, that would pretty much have been the pose it would have adapted.

_And lay your head upon my shoulder  
Outside my window the world has gone to war  
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?_

John looked up when his new flatmate suddenly stood up and walked over to him. Sherlock was still holding his cup and looked slightly awkward as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Suddenly a smile stole upon the detective's face and he sat down his cup on the mantelpiece before signalling to John to put his tea down, too.

_O we will know, won't we?  
The stars will explode in the sky  
O but they don't, do they?  
Stars have their moment and then they die_

This was probably the weirdest thing he had ever done in his life, but he had never been saved last minute from taking a probably deadly pill before. The good thing was that John did not ask questions. He had asked whether he would have taken the pill and he had lied and John had known he was lying but had not insisted. Sherlock's brain was a mighty tool and a dangerous one. He could use it to solve mysteries and fight criminality on a level that Lestrade would never dream of... but the tool could also turn against him in an instant. His brain was his worst enemy in moments like the one with the pill. Pills... after all. He had been through all of it more than once and Mycroft had every right to worry about him although Mycroft could not really understand. Of course, Mycroft was the brainiest person Sherlock knew but then Mycroft could not do what John Watson did, Mycroft could not see with the eyes of a normal human being and still decide to like him.

_There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him  
He said, "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in"  
I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting_

John wondered what was going on in Sherlock's head. The detective seemed to have frozen mid-movement and was still standing next to the mantelpiece in his blue nightgown, dark curled hair dishevelled, looking tired, looking lonely. That had been the very first impression John had gotten from this slender man, before he had even said hello, before the whole story had started. Sherlock Holmes, the remarkable Sherlock Holmes, was one of the loneliest people on this planet because nobody could get into his brain and he couldn't get other people's emotions. John stood up. He didn't really know why he did it. Perhaps it was just the usual twist of fate. Two loners meeting – under whichever circumstances – will always recognize each other.

_And how every little thing anticipates you  
All down my veins my heart-strings call  
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?_

Sherlock saw John get up and for a second feared the doctor had decided it was time for bed and would leave. Don't leave, he begged in his thoughts, not now.

But John Watson did not leave. Instead he stepped forward, covered the distance between him and Sherlock that had seemed like a mile to the detective before and now stood right next to him, so close Sherlock could smell the scent of peppermint from the shampoo he had used. A smile played around his lips and Sherlock couldn't help but smile in return. That was one of the weird things. John made him smile. He had not laughed and smiled as much as in the last few days for... a lifetime if he was honest to himself.

And suddenly it was so easy to open his arms and pull the short man with the cropped blonde hair into a hug that said more than a thousand "thank you"s could ever have done. Here they were, the sociopath detective with his drug-addict history and the traumatized ex-army doctor. Two loners in a big world full of people that fate had thrown into each other's way to save each other and to heal the wounds of time.


End file.
